


Winter Kept Us Warm

by Delphi



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Drama, First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Sex Magic, Soul Bond, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-10
Updated: 2003-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-04 11:54:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delphi/pseuds/Delphi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of bonds and bindings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Kept Us Warm

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Severus Snape Fuh-q-Fest Third Wave. Scenario #1: _Snape discourages his suitor._

_Harry looked into Dumbledore's light-blue eyes, and the thing he really wanted to know spilled out of his mouth before he could stop it. "What made you think he'd really stopped supporting Voldemort, Professor?"_

Dumbledore held Harry's gaze for a few seconds, and then said, "That, Harry, is a matter between Professor Snape and myself."

-Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

**December 23, 1994**

He dreams things that are not his to know.

There are spells and there is screaming. And a long and constant thunder that never reaches the sky. There are orders issued in calm and orders cried in panic. It is always cold. There is anger, and there is sorrow, and a relentless, choking fear.

And there is blood. Always, it ends in blood.

Albus Dumbledore dreams these things every night and believes, sometimes, that this winter will never end.

Eleven o'clock finds him in his chair at the window, a grey old man in the day's aging hours. A cup of tea, long since cooled, rests at his elbow. A quilt is draped over his shoulders in the hope that the nights of restful sleep sewn into its patchwork might bring him some small comfort. He shivers beneath it.

Through tired eyes, he has watched the dull sky bruise and bleed before fading to black. He has gazed out towards familiar hills and named the first stars as they appeared: the Northern Hope, and the Great Dragon, and the Witch's Wheel above them both, turning endlessly in the firmament. He found himself blinking away sudden tears at their brilliance, the slow trickle of warmth tracking down his cheeks and into his beard. He's often wept on sleepless nights such as these. Tired tears that come with neither his bidding nor his consent.

He draws the quilt tighter around his old bones and ventures out a hand in search of his tea. A murmured warming charm kills the chill of the china, and he breathes in fragrant steam before taking a near-scalding mouthful of the strong blend. Despite the burn, he finds himself shivering again, and the tea quivers in sympathy. Something glimmers across its surface.

He frowns, tipping the teacup towards the starlight and gazing into its murky depths. There it is again, a faint shimmer of light where none should be.

"Ah," he says, and he opens his eyes. And opens them again.

Torchlight flickers inside the teacup. Sconces on a castle wall, wavering in the winter draught. The stone looks to be as black and wet as the tea; it is the dungeons, then, where sunlight has never bleached the bricks.

A finger's width of muted colour bobs along the lower rim of the cup, and he tips it towards himself to re-centre the frame. The scene becomes a bedchamber, dim and sparely decorated with a handful of mismatched furniture. The bed is massive, hung with heavy velvet curtains as if there were any light to be kept out. Crisp white sheets lie beneath a rumpled green duvet.

He sighs. It is Severus's bed. He has only seen it once, a handful of winters past—Severus is mindful of privacy and can be ferocious as a fox when it comes to protecting a den of hoarded books and chemicals—but he has cause to remember it well enough. The bed frame creaks in the middle, and the blankets smell like laundry soap and Severus.

The latter can be glimpsed in the distance, out of focus in the dregs of the cup. Severus is clad in trousers and socks, facing the wall, yet unmistakable for his bare, pale back and the ragged ends of his black hair. Severus's motions are a mystery at first, but a tipping of the teacup reveals that he is standing at a washstand, rinsing his face and hands.

Severus turns suddenly towards the teacup-window, wiping his hands on his trousers and making his way to the bed. He grows clearer with each step until, seated at the edge of the mattress, he appears sharp as a razor blade. His eyes are lambent, his body a study in subtle shades. Hints of rose and cream in his skin, a patina of blue in his hair. Severus cannot be defined in black and white.

At least, not until the not-white of his inner arm slopes into a black so deep it seems to swallow up all the light around it. A black so absolute it appears to go clear through Severus's arm, the skull and serpent carved right out from his flesh. A black that has not been seen in fourteen years.

There is no noise in the tower room where the old man sits. Not a breath.

Severus's mouth is a wound, red and thin, and then it opens. He stills as though seized by a chill. He looks to his left and to his right, and finally he looks up until his ashen face is all that fills the teacup, eyes black as Darjeeling and lemon. He smirks with a bitterness that cannot touch the raw terror in his eyes, and when his mouth finally quavers, it silently shapes one word only:

"Albus."

And Albus feels the first, damp stirrings inside his mind. _Mine_, he thinks. _Never his. You are mine._

His eyes drift closed with the effort of the sending, and he shivers in the cold. He takes another drink and waits. Remembering another winter.

**December 12, 1980**

It was a bitter night, and colder still when Severus Snape swept through the door at nine o'clock sharp dragging a piece of the winter in with him. Albus half-rose from his chair in greeting and shivered just to look at the boy. Severus's skin was painfully flushed, his hair damp and his worn black cloak frosted with the new snowfall. There was something different about him, but Albus did not see it just yet, because he liked to pretend he did not watch the boy as closely as he did.

"He wants me to kill you," Severus announced, hanging his cloak in the corner and kicking the snow from his boots.

This was the manner in which Severus began each of their meetings. Abrupt. Muted. Eyes anywhere but on Albus. There was little question of just who "he" was as Severus began making his cautious circle of the headmaster's suite, reacquainting himself with the room and its rules. Snow melted from his boots, leaving wet footprints on the stone floor. There was a certain courtyard that was never cleared—a convenient shortcut between the dungeons where the apprentices' quarters were kept and the western tower where Albus made his home.

His gaze followed Severus's wind-chapped fingers as they skittered over various artefacts—those that didn't bite—touching everything just lightly enough to convince himself they were real. He watched the boy nod respectfully to the statuary, and it was then that it quietly dawned on him, the small incongruity that he hadn't realised had been niggling at him since Severus's arrival.

Severus's robes were clean.

Albus smiled faintly, finding himself nearly as intrigued by this development as he'd been by Severus's proclamation, though perhaps unduly. After all, it wasn't as though Severus was actually dirty as a rule, merely untidy and most often fresh from one potions experiment or another. It had been a while since Albus had had the pleasure of seeing him smartly dressed. A crisp white collar peeked out of Severus's robes, and now that Albus looked closer, he noticed a new polish on his boots.

Had it been anyone else under his scrutiny, Albus might have suspected himself to be nothing but a brief stopover on the way to a liaison with some young lady or gentleman. Severus certainly seemed impatient enough. Twice, he'd glanced over his shoulder, waiting for Albus to respond. The third time, he licked his lips and filled the silence himself: "He's been asking if we see much of each other, you and I. I've told him I believe you're courting me for a position here. That Professor Phial has been hinting she might be retiring once my apprenticeship is complete."

"Mm," Albus hemmed, hiding his smile until Severus's back was turned. He'd not long ago decided that it was charming, the way in which the boy attempted to manipulate him. Severus planned and plotted, and he was ever dropping small landmines into his conversation, subtle suggestions intended to lie unnoticed for days, or months, or even years. Harmless, for the most part. As far as Albus could tell, Severus's agenda seemed to extend no further than ensuring his future usefulness. As it happened, Philomena Phial was indeed considering retirement.

The kettle began to whistle, and Severus took it off the fire. The tea service was where it always was, and Severus busied himself without further comment, leaving Albus to chew over his first statement.

So. Riddle wanted him dealt with.

He decided that this pleased him, in the pragmatic way by which recent years had taught him to be pleased. He turned the situation over in his mind, finding no further divination required to see the machinations of it: Riddle was feeling the knife at his throat and so had decided to set one at Albus's as well.

Good. It was just the sort of rash offence that Riddle would use to cover a weakening defence.

And yet...when he thought longer upon it, Albus could not help but feel some small stirring of disappointment. It was, well, rather tactless, wasn't it?

He glanced at the boy, who was busy sneaking a biscuit from the tin.

Such a naked blade. Severus Snape was an admittedly impressive young man, but the most admirable of his traits—his thirst and his logic paramount among these—were the results of his very Slytherin nature. His candidacy as Albus's assassin was thus tantamount to a slap in the face. Did Albus truly appear to be such a trusting fool? Or did Riddle merely overestimate his own skill as a Legilimens? Albus found himself hoping for the latter. Such a show of pride could well be the Dark Lord's downfall.

"Has Voldemort spoken to you of Legilimency?" he asked, and he watched Severus shudder at the name.

"No," Severus said shortly, shrugging awkwardly as if hoping to cover his lapse. "Nor of Occlumency. That would spoil the illusion of our omniscient Lord, wouldn't it? He tells the others only that I have a strong will, and that I am faithful."

"He is fond of you," Albus remarked, and this time Severus went still as a statue.

"He trusts me," Severus replied quietly before turning his attention to filling the sugar bowl.

Albus sighed quietly to himself. This was the madness of it all, because he trusted Severus as well, and he could only hope hubris was not blinding him into believing he had the better reason. Riddle trusted Severus because he believed him to be faithful. Albus trusted him because he knew him to be a traitor. And, he reminded himself, Severus had no cause to trust anyone.

"He suspects nothing, then?" Albus phrased it as a question, though he did not strictly intend it as one.

Severus rolled his eyes, as he was meant to, and poured the tea. "Yes, Headmaster. Why, I mentioned over tea with _him_ just yesterday that I'd be meeting with you today to let you traipse about in my mind. He told me to say hello."

Albus chuckled, and he humbled himself by watching Severus's pale hands setting out the tea. Teapot, two cups, cream, lemon, honey, and a plate of biscuits, each laid out with artistic function. He saw that Severus's hands were dry, nails bitten down nearly to the quick; as they stirred the honey into Albus's cup, they trembled, clinking the china.

Poor soul, Albus thought, not for the first time. Between his apprenticeship and his work for both Voldemort and the Order of the Phoenix, Severus was being run ragged as a rug. He looked a little older each time they met, and Albus had recently promised himself that, should they both survive this, he would buy Severus's passage to somewhere far away. A tropical beach perhaps, or a Mediterranean city. Someplace the boy could sleep deeply and walk the streets unknown.

For now, however, all Albus could do was let his fingers brush softly against Severus's as he took the offered cup from him. Severus startled at his touch, and his skin felt as frigid as the cup was hot. The rising steam was bittersweet against Albus's lips as he took his first sip. It was perfect, as it always was when Severus prepared it. Albus supposed it was the potion-maker in him.

He waited until Severus had served himself and taken a seat across from him before asking: "For curiosity's sake, just how does our Mr. Riddle propose you help me to meet my end?"

The question seemed to take Severus aback. He pursed his lips, considering. "He didn't say. I suppose he expects me to get you alone, and...well, I do have my wand, you know."

Albus smiled. "You are not quite that quick, my boy."

Severus frowned for a moment, pride wounded, before grudgingly nodding. Albus could envisage wheels turning spastically in the boy's head, a jury of awkward social graces squabbling over whether he was being teased with good nature or with malice.

They finally appeared to come to some consensus, and Severus gestured uncertainly towards a letter opener on the desk. "There's always a good stabbing," he chanced, his low voice just missing the mark of levity.

Albus beamed in encouragement nonetheless. "Ah, yes. And choking, of course."

"Garrotting," Severus declared, making a neat hand motion.

"Shooting!" Albus retorted.

Severus laughed at that, a harsh, nervous sound that nonetheless warmed Albus's heart.

"Do you really think I could hide a bow and quiver on my person?"

"I was thinking something more along the lines of pistols at dawn," Albus replied, relishing the glimpse of Severus' shy smile.

An odd creature, Severus Snape, he reflected. Albus was often put in mind of the stray cats that had hung about the alleyways of his childhood home. His mother would put out milk for them and for the piskies, for good luck, and though there were always a half-dozen tame moggies around the house to cuddle, there was never anything quite as satisfying as entreating one of those aloof strays to eat some meat from his palm and curl up in his lap. Even if, Albus thought with some chagrin, he'd sometimes been scratched.

"And there is poison, of course," Albus said softly, raising his cup in salute before taking another drink.

"Of course," Severus echoed, and he did the same. His throat was impossibly long when he swallowed, and he licked his lips afterwards.

His tongue was very pink, Albus noted, before clapping his hands together, calling a pre-emptive strike on all wayward thoughts. There was never enough time for entertaining, though he did his best. "Now then," he said brightly. "Are we ready to begin?"

Severus nodded curtly, his face betraying nothing as he settled back in his chair and waited for Albus to take up his place behind him. When Albus had laid his hands on his shoulders, Severus drew his cup to his mouth, breathed in deeply, and closed his eyes.

"Good," Albus said, almost by rote now. "Concentrate on the tea. On the warmth of the cup in your hands and the steam against your face."

He watched closely as Severus obeyed, pulling a trance over himself as easily as another would a blanket. The boy sighed softly as his head lolled forward.

"That's it," Albus murmured. "That's it..._Legilimens._"

There was no more resistance than he'd meet biting through a strawberry, and it was just as sweet and tart when he sidled into Severus's mind.

_Shhhh._

This was Severus's thought. A susurrus of silent sound that fluttered Albus about like a leaf. Severus's mind lay out before him, curled around itself like a sleeping flower. It was sealed seamlessly—Albus had often wondered just when that had come to pass, and had glimpsed enough memories to warrant a guess—but he knew there was no battering through Severus's defences, no matter how flimsy they might appear. There was only a polite request...

"Will you let me in?"

...and entreating Severus to lay down his shield of his own accord.

"Where are you, Mr. Snape?" he coaxed. "Show me."

He smiled when the first tentative flutter came, like butterfly wings against his own thoughts. The flower slowly became a series of overlapping petals, and then the petals blossomed for him, layers of delicate membrane peeling back until Albus was drifting into a vast cavern.

"_Very_ good. Now give us a light."

There was a moment's pause, and he could feel Severus's concentration sharpening; Severus imagined it like the tip of a quill, and so it appeared in Albus's thoughts as well. The darkness seemed to gather in upon itself, and then it was if a fog were clearing, slowly revealing the silver metropolis of Severus's mind.

Albus let himself quest deeper and was pleased to find, for the first time, no unwanted memory drifting forward to meet him. Severus had obviously been practising. His mind was utterly tranquil, the pathways of his thoughts and memories frozen from rivers to roads. The most recent memories, those as yet devoid of any context, were strung up between the highways, huge and nearly transparent, like enormous soap bubbles.

Those were the harmless ones. A trip to the apothecary. A night spent with a good book. An old family friend met by chance at Diagon Alley.

There were other new memories, Albus knew, deep down in the dark. And still others, even deeper below that, buried in the dirt.

So far, so good.

"Now, where is he?" Albus asked gently.

There was half a heartbeat's pause, and then he felt Severus begin to draw him downwards. He marvelled to himself for the hundredth time that there were directions in Severus's mind, an up and a down, and everything just where he left it. It was a refreshing change from the clutter of his own thoughts, which at times seemed to him nothing but a tangled skein of yarn with neither one end nor another.

_Oi, Brother Snape..._

The voice drifted into both their consciousnesses, neither his own nor Severus's. It was the sort of voice that took far too many liberties. The stale purr of Michaelmas Nott.

_Brother Snape... _

Severus looks up, startled. His hands are cold.

"Why startled?" Albus asked. "Where are you?"

_He didn't hear him coming. He's in his usual chair at Lucius's. A little ways away from the central circle, his back to the wall. He'd been staring into a glass of wine he'd been told was spectacular when Nott snuck up on him._

Nott leans down, close enough that Severus can smell his sickly-sweet cologne and the wine on his breath.

"Our Lord has need of a fresh dose of that Valedixit Draught. Says you're to ask Lestrange if you're having trouble laying hands on the Alihotsy leaves."

Hands.

The image wavered.

_Severus is in the woods, in the dark, looking at Nott's hands. The smudges on them might have been dirt, might have been anything but blood, but they aren't, and Severus' stomach is twisting because it isn't newt's blood, or dragon's blood, but—_

"Mr. Snape!" Albus said sharply and then softened his voice when the boy twitched. "My boy, you don't have to think about that just now. You're at Lucius's house, in the red chair in the corner."

_In the red chair. Nott's hands on the arm of the red chair. _

"Who's it for?" Severus asks, prepared for Nott's suspicion.

"Think that's any of your business, Snape?"

Severus rolls his eyes. "You have to make Valedixit to proportion, which I'm sure you would know had you not failed Potions. If made too weak, the draught is ineffectual. Too strong, and things may get...unduly messy."

It's not a lie, thank goodness. Nott is rather stupid, but he knows that he's stupid and thus can be difficult to mislead.

"Oh. A man, then. Mid-fifties. About my size."

Thank you, Nott. Not bloody much to go on. Severus's neck is itching badly but he doesn't dare scratch. He is terrified.

"Background?"

Nott seems to draw a blank, his big blunt face screwing up in the irritation he always uses to mask confusion.

"Bloodlines, man, bloodlines," Severus hisses, as loudly as he dares.

Nott shifts, impatient. Already eager to be away, which suits Severus fine. "Mudblood. From County Cork-ways, I think. Married to one of the Bones sisters."

Severus sighs inwardly. Thank you, Nott. "That'll do," he says shortly. "I should be able to slip some leaves from the Hogwarts stores."

Nott grins suddenly, his duty done. He gives Severus a hearty slap on the shoulder. "Knew our Lord kept you around for a reason."

Severus's bitterness was an acrid yellow shadow over all that Albus surveyed. "Thank you," he said, following the thread of the evening further.

_Lucius saunters over. "Acting the wallflower again? Really, Severus..." _

Talk of taking over the Duponts' printing business...

Hunting Muggles in Loch Dhu...

Julian's wife is pregnant again...

They moved through the meeting together, frame by frame. From time to time, Severus twitched, and Albus rubbed his shoulders.

"You are doing excellently," he said. "Now, Mr. Snape, where am _I_?"

In Severus's mind, relief was the colour of the winter wind, and Albus felt something cool and damp parting for him as he was drawn down even deeper. Below street-level. Something like an underground river, where tiny shrunken seeds of memory lay buried beneath the water.

He dimly heard himself sigh. It was always lovely in here, dark and warm as the womb, and delving deeper into it was like sliding into the blood-warm waters of some foreign sea. The rhythm of the waves called to the tides of his body, and he faintly realised that he was pressing closer to the back of Severus's chair.

Severus guided him down beneath the water, through a certain thickness that Albus could best imagine as the riverbed. Beneath it were the seeds. A hundred of them, so small and so tight that forcing any of them open would destroy the contents. Of that hundred, Severus unerringly singled one out and drew it to the front of his mind until all Albus could see was its impenetrable shell.

A slim crack appeared in the seed, the colour of new grass in springtime. He could feel the memories pulsing eagerly inside, but Severus kept them on a short lead, drawing them slowly out one by one. Every evening spent in the tower room was tucked inside that tiny shell. Every note left in Severus's quarters, every careful nod in the hallway. Severus even kept the sound of Albus's voice in there, where no one, not even Lord Voldemort, could ever pry it loose.

"That's fine," Albus meant to say, but he heard no sound leave his mouth.

He became suddenly very much aware of the...pulsing...of Severus's mind. Around him. Inside of him. Severus was usually eager to have Albus depart from him, but now he was allowing him to linger inside. Down where it was warm and wet. Miles away from the winter storm.

He felt his mouth drop open and a tug in his stomach where Severus's memory was suddenly his own—no, not a memory, but an imagining that attacked from all sides.

_They are in the tower together, Severus in his chair and Albus standing stooped and shaking behind him. Albus's hands are on Severus' shoulders, hard and possessive. He won't let him go, not ever. _

"I need you."

Which one of them says it?

"Please."

His fingers creep inwards like spiders over Severus's starched collar. He feels Severus's tight swallow. Skin as soft and damp as the inside of his mind. He tilts Severus's head back to see those eyes flutter closed and that mouth part for him.

And when he kisses him, it is...

He's rubbing against the back of the back of the chair. Severus's mouth is salty and soft, and the brass tacks on the upholstery are catching on Albus's robes. He can hear the sound they make.

He could hear the sound...

_No!_

Albus snapped out of Severus's mind so quickly that it nearly blinded him, his fingers scrabbling to find the tender hollow of Severus's throat of their own accord. He tightened his grasp and heard the boy choke.

"Mr. Snape," he said, finding his voice breathless and trembling with the effort of keeping calm. "I don't suppose I have to tell you that was terribly rude."

He licked his lips and found them still wet from Severus's mouth.

Severus was shaking from the shock of the separation, his mouth twitching. He tried to struggle to his feet, but Albus's hands held him fast.

"Would you care to explain yourself?" Albus asked, his belly still dangerously thrilled.

Severus's eyes shuttered. His mouth moved silently, gasping. He turned his face away and finally forced three dead words past his lips:

"He wants me."

Albus's hands nearly faltered. His mind was fresh from Severus's, and he could taste the fear that was not his own.

"I see," he said, numbly.

And, after an instant, he did see. All too well. He saw Severus's clean clothes and his spit-and-polish attempts at gussying up for Albus's sake. He saw the red of his mouth and the pink of his cheeks. He saw the shame in the boy's eyes and found himself caught between anger and pity. It was not the first time that Severus had torn him so.

"He says I'm the only one he can trust," Severus whispered. His voice sounded broken and far away. And very young.

The sound of it toppled Albus to mercy. He sighed. Removed his hands from Severus's neck. Rubbed his tired eyes.

"And so you meant to...what, Mr. Snape?" he asked quietly. "Sell your body in exchange for my protection?"

Severus pushed himself to his feet, choleric colour rising in his cheeks. His face twisted up like he'd swallowed a lemon, and the words that came from him were sour. "You don't understand! He...he'll..."

"He'll what?"

"He—He's _courting_ me," Severus spat. "Pretending I have a choice." His face was anguished for a moment, and then the fire seemed to go out of him and he crumpled forward against the chair like a rag doll. There were no tears in his eyes, no anger. Only a sick wonder.

Severus stared down at the floor, his face still and ashen, and whispered: "He'll be my first."

It took a moment for the words to sink in. Albus had to step back from the misery that Severus was radiating to let the implications follow.

First. Severus's first. He had never...Riddle would be his first, and first was important. First was special. First was power, and between two wizards of such ability, first was often forever. Albus didn't dare give himself leave to wonder what sort of spells Riddle could fuel with a virgin's sacrifice. There was no answer he would have liked.

"Oh...my dear boy." He cautiously made his way around the chair and stood as close to Severus's side as he dared.

He saw the corner of Severus's mouth twitch just a little and heard the bitter humour in the boy's voice as he softly proclaimed: "For want of a buggering, the battle was lost."

Albus felt the first chuckle bubble up in his chest before he could stop it, and the second dashed out close behind. It was a painful laugh, one that bordered on hysteria as the absurdity of the situation hit him fully. He laughed until tears came to his eyes, until he had to clutch at the chair to stand, until he saw Severus glance toward the door.

He sobered immediately and straightened. "I'm sorry," he said. "I am sorry. This is no small matter."

"No. It isn't."

"All right." Albus idly rubbed his mouth, trying not to wonder if his lips were as swollen as Severus's. "All right, here is what we are going to do."

Severus arched an eyebrow, appearing understandably wary.

"I am going to sit down and finish my tea. You are to do the same. I am going to have a bit of a think, and then we are going to talk. Agreed?"

He did not know what was passing behind Severus's eyes, and that frightened him. It was suddenly very cold in the room and inside his own head.

He sat. Severus sat. He took a sip of tea, and Severus did the same. He watched Severus watching him.

"You say that Voldemort is courting you," he ventured after a moment.

"Yes." Defensive.

"As a consort."

"Yes." A touch frightened now.

"How do you know this?"

Severus frowned, making a vague gesture. "He is...free with his resources and with his compliments. He's bought me things. I know."

"And you have kept this a secret from me."

Severus examined the floor. "I thought...I thought he might lose interest in time. He is fickle with his favour."

"But he hasn't."

"No."

"All right, never mind that for now. I need you to think carefully: has he told you of his intentions outright?"

"No, he's been careful not to. Bellatrix was...teasing me. Said she'd heard the Dark Lord asking Avery if I'd ever..." Severus faltered now, a never before seen blush creeping across his cheeks.

"And what did our Mr. Avery tell him?"

"That he was fairly certain I hadn't."

"And Voldemort?"

Severus's mouth twisted up. "He said he'd find out for himself. The next new moon."

"A fine time for bindings," Albus mused. "But he didn't know for certain that you were untouched, and so you decided to rectify that."

"Mm."

He saw the bobbing of Severus's Adam's apple and remembered what it had felt like under his hands. "Why me?"

He thought he already knew the answer. He could almost hear the insidious slither of Severus's plan: if Albus was there first. If Albus was there first, then whatever Riddle claimed would be no further than the surface. Skin-deep. No more powerful a binding than the tattoo already etched into Severus's arm. But only if another Legilimens was there first.

But Severus only shrugged. "You might not have noticed, but most everyone of my acquaintance are Death Eaters."

Albus smiled at the lie. "Why you?" he asked, though again he suspected he knew the answer.

Severus shrugged. "Because he can," he said bitterly.

"Oh no, my boy," Albus corrected, and he smiled without humour. "I believe it's because he cannot. You resist him, Mr. Snape. You are strong, and he cannot bear it."

Severus laid his teacup down so hard it chipped, and he stared at the broken piece of china with undue fascination, his thoughts his own. "Not strong enough," he muttered fiercely. "He would be inside of me forever. He could make me do anything. He could make me kill you."

Clever boy. In that moment, Albus was frightened to understand perfectly why Riddle wanted him so very badly. When unfurled, Severus's mind was a hungry, grasping thing. Always wanting to know, always wanting to understand. It seemed, at times, very nearly infinite—as though anyone who could make a place for himself inside of it would have grasped a little piece of immortality.

The warm place, Albus realised in a quiet epiphany. That warm, watery place deep inside Severus's mind was where Riddle wanted to force himself. And Albus was the one who had been there first.

"My dear boy," he said, feeling his cheeks warm. "You must know I will help you in whatever way I can."

Severus seemed startled for a moment, but he quickly nodded, and his voice became brisk as he drew a handful of slim vials from pocket. "Very well, then. I have an aphrodisiac—dragon horn, standard. And some Polyjuice, as well as a few source links—no one you'd know, but if you have any particular preferences..."

"Now, wait just a moment," Albus cut in.

"...blond or brunet..."

"Mr. Snape..."

"I have a woman as well..."

"Mr. Snape, please do shut up!" He winced as Severus fumbled half the vials he was cradling, clinking them together and dropping two to the carpet.

Albus rose quickly from his chair and gently took each stoppered vial from Severus's unresisting hands before the boy could do further damage. He picked up the others and laid them on the table. He put his hand to Severus's cheek, peering at him closely.

It took a moment, but Severus's gaze eventually rose to meet him.

At so close a distance, Albus could see the true colour of Severus's eyes, the shade of warmth that painted the irises a rich brown. His eyelashes. The broken veins that left purple smudges on his eyelids.

"If this is to be done," he began, letting his fingertips flutter against Severus's skin. "_If_ this is to be done, then it is a matter between the two of us, and between the two of us it shall remain. Do you understand me, Severus?"

He saw Severus stiffen at the unexpected use of his given name, and though the boy's mouth twisted into a painful smile, there was a peculiar loveliness to how his eyelashes fell against his cheekbones, and Albus was comforted.

Comforted, at least until Severus slid down to his knees. Wet his lips. And before Albus had quite realised what was happening, began fumbling with the copper buttons of Albus's robes, his mouth hard and his chin determined.

Albus caught Severus's hands and held them tightly, watching as the boy frowned down at the carpet. A virgin, sweet Merlin. Albus hadn't laid hands on a virgin in more than a hundred years. He had begun to doubt they even made virgins anymore.

"A moment, my dear," he muttered, though whether he intended it for Severus's benefit or his own, he could not say. The sight of the boy on his knees very nearly terrified him. He imagined those agile lips wrapped around him, and his heartbeat quickened and his mouth ran dry, but no matter how the heat kindled in his belly, the fire in his loins was reluctant to catch.

It had been years. He had even wondered now and again if the desire had left him for good. It was a ridiculous cliché, but he realised that any love he had for Severus was for his mind. Not an admiration for the quickness of it or the orderliness; nothing so sterile as that, at least. It was a sensual beauty that lay in the slow, measured tides of Severus's thoughts, the arches and towers of logic, and the heat. He'd thought, at times, that he might curl up in such a place and sleep the most perfect sleep, lulled by scraps of soft slow songs to which Severus knew all the words. But it was peace that he found in Severus's company, not excitement, and the latter was what he had to find in Severus's body if this  
was to be successful.

He took a deep breath and gazed his fill. Severus was young, yes. That was something. And well-formed, newly balanced on his long legs. Fine hands. He smelled oddly but pleasantly of sea salt, and there were times when his face was at rest that there was an austere beauty to be found between his patrician nose and lush mouth. Gorgeous eyes, like caverns into unfathomable depths. And Severus was peculiarly graceful in his unloveliness, utterly at home in his own body. And unspeakably brave.

Severus tugged his hands out of Albus's grasp, shuffling back on his knees before pushing himself to his feet. His eyes met Albus's for a brief moment, and he then began unbuttoning himself to reveal a pair of pressed black trousers and a brilliantly white dress shirt. He stepped out of his robes and, after a moment's hesitation, toed off his boots. No socks, Albus noted faintly. His feet were bare and surprisingly handsome.

Severus backed away uneasily into the bedroom until the backs of his knees bumped up against the edge of the mattress, and then he sat down hard, crossing his arms over his chest. His heels tapped nervously against the bed frame.

Albus felt his mouth soften. Severus looked ageless in this light, child and man, nervous and dark-eyed and flushed with arousal. Too old to still be so innocent and far too young to be so jaded.

With trembling hands, Albus shed his own robes, and then stooped to pick up Severus's, folding both pairs over the back of his desk chair. He felt Severus's gaze travelling down his bare back. The day had started out warm enough that he'd dressed in nothing but a pair of long underwear beneath his robes, and he was suddenly quite aware of the changes his body had undergone during the past few years. He'd heretofore always felt some pride in his own fitness, living cleanly and setting a half-hour aside each morning for light callisthenics, and as a result had not so long ago found his arms still pleasingly strong, his abdomen still flat.

Now, however, taking a critical look down at himself, he had to admit to his dismay that what had not gotten thinner over the years had softened considerably. The hair on his chest and stomach was nearly all grey now, only a few auburn strands remaining to testify to the lost days of his youth.

Albus glanced over his shoulder to catch Severus quickly dropping his gaze. "This cannot be our only choice," he said softly.

Severus frowned in response and curled in on himself like a dying leaf.

"I swear it to you, Severus," Albus insisted. "You have my protection, and you shall have it for as long as I draw breath."

"But you don't have mine," Severus said quietly. "Not yet."

For the first time that evening, his gaze met Albus's unflinchingly. He uncrossed his arms and laid his open hands on his knees, and the bravery that Albus had believed in all of his life shone in those dark eyes.

Albus found himself nodding slowly as he pulled a ribbon from his desk drawer and tied back his hair. He set down his spectacles and took a deep breath. He sat on the bed, near enough to Severus that their knees touched, and made his best attempt at a smile.

"This doesn't have to be a chore, my dear," he said, laying his hand in the scant space between their bodies. "It can be a lovely thing, if we take it slowly. I promise to be your teacher in this, and together we will discover just what it is that you like...what gives you pleasure. I'll take great care with you, you know."

Severus was silent, but the brief roll of his eyes came too late to be genuine.

"Might I kiss you?" Albus asked, recalling with sudden vividness the hot salty press of Severus's mouth.

"If you'd like."

He laid his hand against Severus's cheek, a surge of adrenaline coursing through him at the contact. He felt Severus's mind slowly spreading open for him, baring the slick heat inside, and it took all of his control to keep his touch gentle as he leaned forward.

"Oh..." Severus whispered against his lips, a moment before Albus swallowed it up and kissed him.

For all its seriousness, Severus's mouth felt softer than he'd expected. Sweeter too, the taste of sugared tea sneaking up on the tip of his tongue. Severus's lips parted for him, just a little, but it was enough to make him thirst for more. Heat and wetness teased him from the inside of Severus's mouth, as exquisite as the inside of his mind.

Severus breathed softly into him and shivered when Albus drew back. They each drew a shaky breath.

Severus's hands were clenched in the quilt. His lips were wet, and he nodded faintly as if to say, "get on with it."

Albus fingered the fabric of Severus's shirt, tugging the hem out of his trousers. The material was immaculate but worn, likely second-hand. Underneath, Severus's skin was soft and clammy, and ticklish if the boy's chuffing breath was anything to go by. He kissed Severus again, chastely this time, and slid both hands along his bare back. He found himself smiling. He'd forgotten how good it felt simply to touch another man.

Severus squirmed in place, staring at Albus narrow-eyed and tight-lipped before unbuttoning his shirt and slipping it off his shoulders. He seemed painfully unsure as to what to do with his hands. He smoothed down his hair, momentarily crossed his arms over his chest, and then wound his fingers in the quilt once more.

Lustful thoughts began to form in Albus's mind like the first wisps of rain clouds. The buttermilk colour of Severus' smooth skin, peppered here and there with small black freckles, hinted at some darker heritage. The boy was fit, the sort of effortless leanness particular to lanky young men. There was a fine dusting of dark hair in the centre of his chest—briefly glimpsed under his arms as well when he'd shed his shirt—and trailing down from his naval into mystery. His nipples were small and brown, peaking in the cool air.

Albus reached out, stopping himself a few scant inches from Severus's chest. "May I?"

Severus looked toward the window; several birds were silhouetted against the tinted pane, a few members of the flock of sparrows that often gathered there in the winter for breadcrumbs. As if sensing the attention, the birds took flight. Severus nodded mutely, his face nearly expressionless save for the furrow in his brow.

He brushed his thumb over Severus's left nipple and watched as the boy caught his lip between his teeth. Encouraged, he stroked it several times, watching it crinkle, and then slid his free hand up along Severus's side to treat the other.

"Do you like that?"

Severus leaned back slightly, not pulling away but only bracing himself back on his hands. Albus ducked his head, and Severus made a small sound even before Albus began lapping at his chest.

"Ah..." Severus's voice was high and soft.

Albus fixed his mouth around one nipple and sucked hard, flicking his tongue against the soft skin and sliding both hands around to the small of Severus's back. He felt Severus nearly melt against him when he began kissing his way across his chest. The boy breathed out small ohs and ahs, and it was then—oh yes, in that moment when Severus began to moan in earnest—that a relieved Albus felt the first real stirrings between his legs, wondering how sweet and strange a berry as this had yet to be plucked.

_Because he's poison_, a dark voice whispered in his ear, sounding something like the most secret thoughts in Severus's head. _Poison, bitter and deadly out of season._

But how ripe the boy seemed when Albus paused, only the tip of his nose brushing Severus' skin. He didn't need to speak the spell to slip into Severus's mind this time. He was drifting against fluttering petals, and his only thoughts were of going deeper.

He shut his eyes hard, forcing his hands to the mattress before he could act too roughly.

"Lovely thing," he murmured wretchedly, his mouth full of the bubbly sweetness of power and the forbidden. This was a silver magic—neither black nor white—so fine to possess and so ready to corrupt. He was suddenly aware of how loudly he was breathing and how restlessly Severus was leaning towards him. Eager to get on with it, or eager to be done?

A sudden touch to his leg was his answer, as he looked down to see Severus's pale hand on his thigh. He stared at the boy, whose cheeks were blooming with roses.

"I..." Severus withdrew his hand into his own lap, and it was then that Albus saw the rather significant bulge in his trousers.

He glanced back up quickly. Severus's face was very nearly scarlet.

Oh, Severus. Wishing so hard to be shameless.

He took the boy's hand in his own and replaced it on his thigh with a gentle squeeze. He stroked the silky petals that guarded Severus's thoughts. "Slowly, yes?" He gave Severus a small smile before bending to once again fix hand and mouth on his nipples, this time gently nipping and pinching, drawing ragged breaths out of him. He shifted his leg so that Severus's clenching hand slid down to the inside of his thigh.

Severus's other hand clutched suddenly at Albus's side, and a moment later began trying to tug him forward, drawing him close and then pushing him away with each wet caress of Albus's mouth. His hips began to rock slightly, and the soft noise he made when Albus pulled away was almost painful.

Albus fitted his hands to Severus's hips. "Perhaps you would be more comfortable...without these?"

He inwardly winced at the crassness in his voice, how dirty an old man he must have appeared, stroking himself through his pants as Severus got to his feet and stumbled back from the bed. Yet he could do no more than sit back, breathless, as Severus slid his trousers off his narrow hips. Underneath, he was wearing a pair of cotton step-ins that clung to his thighs, worn enough that the dark head of his erection could be clearly glimpsed.

"May I..." Albus felt his voice creak.

Severus frowned, puzzled, his thumbs hooked in his waistband.

Albus bit his lip in frustration. His hands clutched the air in the shape of Severus's hips. "Let me," he said.

He saw the realisation dawn in Severus's eyes, and then the boy nodded shyly. Severus stepped out of his trousers, the muscles of his long legs shifting fluidly under Albus's gaze as he came to stand between Albus's knees.

Albus couldn't bear to look him in the face as he reverently reached out his hand. Severus's prick was hard and hot and twitched like a serpent against his palm. Severus sighed as his hips rocked forward.

Albus gently worked the pants around Severus's erection and down his thighs. Gazed upon him, not nearly to his fill. Licked his lips. Merlin, how hungry he suddenly felt, as though he'd been starving for years and had only realised it now that a feast had been laid out before him. How he wanted to lap at Severus's smooth thighs, and suck his fine young prick, and swallow down every last drop of cream until the boy was lax and sated and utterly free for the taking.

He slowly ran his hands over Severus's hips, and Severus shifted in place, his prick bobbing barely a foot away from Albus's mouth. He could hear Severus's breathing begin to unravel, quickening as Albus pulled him closer. He gently rubbed his cheek against Severus's stomach.

Severus gasped softly, sweetly, and clamped his hands onto Albus's shoulders. His palms were warm and sweating, but the tips of his fingers had yet to thaw.

Albus wrapped one arm around Severus's back, urging him closer. Lovely boy, lovely boy, shifting impatiently beneath his hands.

"Will you let me taste you?" he asked, breathing softly against Severus's prick.

"Y-yes," Severus whispered. His hands clenched around Albus's shoulders.

Albus wet his lips. He pressed his face to the hollow of the boy's hip and breathed in the hot and salty scent of him. He wrapped both arms around Severus's back and held him fast, catching Severus's legs between his knees as he lowered his mouth.

He kissed the tip of Severus's prick, remembering suddenly the feel of a beard sweeping between his own young thighs, the warmth of it, and each lock of hair bristling against his balls. Severus was going to remember this moment for the rest of his life, he realised, and felt another pang for the soft light that still glowed within the boy's soul. Perhaps it would be a kinder fate if Severus were truly irredeemable. Perhaps it was easier to live in the darkness than in endless shadow.

"Brave boy," he whispered, and then he slowly began to massage Severus's prick with his tongue. Severus trembled in his arms.

'It's all right,' he wanted to say. 'The pleasure frightens me as well, but we're the two of us together here, and I'll take care of you. I'll take care of you forever.'

Instead, "Darling," was all he could bear to murmur, and he brought one hand to his mouth and wet his thumb. He suckled gently at the head of Severus's prick while he slid the thumb between Severus's cheeks. He stroked Severus's opening and then gently pushed inside.

Severus went rigid and moaned softly, to Albus's delight. Perhaps the boy truly would enjoy a man, then. Perhaps he had thought about it, fantasised about it even. Had Severus ever done this to himself, he wondered? Oh Lord, had those elegant fingers with their icy tips ever plunged so deep into his own body that he'd brought himself off from the inside out?

Albus began to force his thumb around in slow circles, lips pressed to every minute twitch under Severus' skin. Severus was hot inside and whimpered low in his throat with every movement.

He wondered what Severus sounded like when he shouted, uninhibited, when his voice was beyond his control. Severus had a lovely voice, smooth and bitter and rich by turns, like dark chocolate. And almost sweet, inside his head.

_Oh yes, please, thank you, please... _

"Do it," Severus whispered, stroking Albus' shoulders. "Do it now."

Something brushed against his hand. A small jar, floating in mid-air. He turned his hand to catch it, and Severus slipped out of his grasp, stepping back even as his mind swallowed Albus up further.

"Lie down," Albus said, imagination running through all the ways he might lay Severus out before him.

"That's it," he said, as Severus crawled onto the bed. "That's it, on your side."

Severus stretched out facing him, one arm pillowed under his head and the other curled up towards his chin. His top leg was cocked slightly, and Albus eased it up until his knee was tucked up against his chest.

The long line of Severus's thigh was unspeakably tempting, and Albus couldn't help but bend to kiss it, watching in delight as Severus's back arched. He slid his hands down, gently kneading Severus's backside.

"This will feel lovely, I promise you," Albus told him.

He brushed Severus's hair back from his face and kissed his cheek. He unscrewed the jar and dipped his fingers into the slippery liquid.

The walls of Severus's mind grew hot and damp around him.

His fingers ached with anticipation.

He slid inside.

And slid inside.

_The water is everywhere. In his mouth and in his ears and all around him. It strokes him, pulling him under until he is drowning._

He feels his body stretching out next to Severus's. He feels himself pulling Severus to his hands and knees.

"I want you," Albus hears himself whisper. His lips ghost over Severus's shoulder.

"Yes..." Severus hisses. "Your servant..."

But Albus shakes his head fiercely. "My protégé," he gasps. "My right hand."

"Your left," Severus whispers.

He ran his hands down Severus's back and cupped his backside. Severus swayed against him, head falling forward.

Albus closed his eyes, dizzy and sick with need. The water was rushing all around him now, and the boy was split open for him like an overripe peach, inside and out, the tightness very nearly unbearable.

"Breathe," Albus muttered, because he wasn't sure if either of them were.

He could hear Severus's small gasps and could hardly believe they were born of pain—not when he himself felt such exquisite pleasure. Not when Severus's mind was gripping him as tightly as his body. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, and only Severus's awkward little hissings kept him from taking what he so desperately needed. He held himself very still and stroked the inside of Severus's mind instead, running his hands through the warm water, cupping it in non-corporeal hands and letting it trickle through his fingers.

He nearly broke apart when Severus dropped forward to bury his face in the pillow, both of them giving a sharp cry as Albus shifted inside of him. Severus cursed long and low, and Albus nearly sobbed, forcing his weight onto one hand and stroking Severus's side with the other. Soft, warm skin. Very still.

"All right?" he asked. Any further and he wasn't certain he would be able to stop, if he would be able to hear 'no' over the thrum of the gently rocking water. If he could possibly be able to keep himself from pressing Severus down and pushing deeper into him, and deeper into him, and deeper still.

"Yes?" Severus said faintly.

"Is that a question?" Albus's fingers twisted in the sheets. He wanted to sink his teeth into Severus's shoulder and bite down until he tasted the marrow.

Severus shook his head and hesitantly pushed back against him, arching like a cat. "No...yes. I don't know."

Albus rocked carefully against him. Severus shivered when his beard swept along his back. "Do you want to stop?"

"Lord, no." Severus nudged back against him again, and Albus could feel himself sinking down into the mud at the bottom of the river. Magic was positively crackling in the air around them—Merlin, half the castle had to be feeling it.

"Do you? Want to stop, I mean?" Severus asked, nothing at all coy in his voice. There were excited little thoughts buzzing all over inside of his head, too quick to catch.

"Never," Albus murmured, and as he made his first real thrust he discovered it was not quite so impossible to keep himself on the fairer side of gentle. Not if he listened to the water and the waves and moved himself just like that. Touched Severus just like that. "You are so lovely."

"And yours," Severus said with sudden ferocity, thrusting himself into Albus's hand, and inside it felt as though he'd grasped Albus by the shoulders and pushed him down deeper, a full baptism in a place where no one had been before.

"Mine," Albus cried, feeling his hold on himself slipping. Memories were cracking open all around him.

_It's his third birthday and he can't stop crying / a day by the lake with Silvana / eight years old, that afternoon in the woods / oh God, she's bleeding, make her get up / The Sorting Ceremony / the werewolf / Mother, help me / the Dark Lord touches his shoulder, touches his skin/_

/And/

A dream, or a memory of a dream / the headmaster's hands moving up his bare thighs / Albus's voice saying "put out the light, put out the light."

The memories slammed into him from the inside, and in that moment, Albus fully knew what it was to be Severus Snape. Bitter tears flooded his eyes.

"Where am I?" he gasped, feeling himself sinking down, down.

"Inside of me," Severus moaned.

_Inside of me._

Inside of him.

**December 23, 1994:**

And he wonders: Is it unjust to say that he never expected to care for Severus as much as he does? He certainly means no harm by it. He loves Severus, loves him as best he can and makes love to him as often as he can.

Severus has refused to take another lover. If pressed, he will claim to take no pleasure from another's touch, and he must have his reasons for saying so. Soon after the night of their bonding, Severus hired a prostitute in Knockturn Alley and made a memory, for anyone who might care to look, of losing his virginity on dirty sheets above a butcher's shop. Whether he's been with anyone else is for Severus alone to say; Albus is only certain that he himself has no company in the blind depths of Severus's thoughts.

Whether this is a by-product of the bond or Severus's personal choice, he knows not and asks not. There is precious little written on the subject, and one text will contradict another. Each Occlumens and Legilimens are, after all, one person and another. Each as individual as snowflakes. As unpredictable as a winter storm.

He has tried to be a good lover to Severus in the ways he knows how. Severus is prideful, however, and will usually refuse to admit Albus to his bed unless Albus is capable of performing as well. Perhaps he cannot believe that for Albus the pleasure of touching him is satisfaction enough. Perhaps Albus has not done enough over the past fourteen years to convince Severus that he regrets nothing.

Sometimes he takes potions of dragon's blood, ones that make his heart beat too fast, but he does this sparingly, for as he grows older, his greatest fear and most shameful yearning is to die in Severus's arms. Most of the time, he is content to wait until Severus is tired or in his cups, when the loneliness is too great, and he will then urge him into bed and touch him and kiss him all over his body. He's made a place for Severus at Hogwarts, though not nearly so fine a place as Severus made for him. He buys him small presents occasionally, Potions equipment or books, and sends him foolish Valentines signed "Your Secret Admirer." He gives Severus as much freedom as he can, so that the both of them might forget, in their minds at least, the seed of servitude that lies buried in Severus's love.

But the heart always remembers.

Albus hears the tread of light footsteps coming up the staircase and rises stiffly out of his chair. The quilt falls from his shoulders, pooling on the cool stone.

"I don't want to talk about it," Severus announces the moment he is through the doorway.

He sweeps past Albus and goes to hang his cloak in the corner. He is still only wearing trousers and socks. He keeps his left arm cradled close to his body.

"Neither do I," is all Albus says before pulling Severus to the bed.

They huddle together, chilled skin against the chilled sheets

"Where are you?" Albus whispers.

There is a silent pause and then:

"Good, now where am _I_?"

The murmured response is nearly lost in the whistling of the wind, but in Albus's mind it comes clear as a bell. Already, the rising water is dampening the sound of spellwork and screaming. It is so warm inside. It is, he supposes, how it must feel to freeze to death. So warm. He pulls Severus close to him and soothes him: _You're mine, you're mine._

And he smiles to himself in the dark, knowing there will be no dreams tonight. Not tonight, not in this safe place beneath the silver city where his sleep is always perfect and he has no secrets because he is kept secret himself. Not in this place where Severus buries him deep beneath the water and climbs in after him—a place so deep that it might not even be Severus's mind, but something else entirely.

Severus's heart, perhaps. Severus's soul.

The place that will always be his and his alone.


End file.
